


Poetry, I Guess

by astra (hauntedpunk)



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe, The Vice Quadrant - Steam Powered Giraffe (Album)
Genre: It's not as serious as it sounds, M/M, Shore Leave, peter gets a lil drunk, rav is..well. yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpunk/pseuds/astra
Summary: When Peter looks at him, all he sees is poetry.





	Poetry, I Guess

**Author's Note:**

> howdy nyall its been a hot second since i actually finished any fics so! here ya go! it's no coincidence that the last fic i posted was right before college started and this is being finished during spring break 
> 
> anyway! peter is gay and sappy just like i headcanon post-necrostar peter to be. homeboy certainly almost died fighting the necronaut, and was ABSOLUTELY fucked up by the necrostar, so it's nice to think abt he and rav travelling space once it's all over while peter collects his feelings back and learns to see the beauty in things again after ~250 years of being locked away from the universe

When Peter looks at him all he sees is poetry. 

He sees similes and metaphors pouring from his smile, allusions to the gods of light and song whenever he laughs. It’s almost too much - every time Rav throws his head back and shouts when he presses the Alexander into hyperdrive Peter is overcome with a tidal wave of ‘even your empty noise rivals colors of the most poignant nebula’. Odes to Rav’s star-like freckles fill the commander’s thoughts and threaten to boil over the top and come spilling out of his mouth. 

But he and Rav are friends. Just friends. One wouldn’t write sonnets about the curve of a friend’s smile, or triolets about the warm gold of a friend's eyes.

“Hey, Commander!” 

Peter sits at the bridge-console typing lines of codes in for the next launch, programming the right amount of force into the ship’s engines. It’s an old ship and manual application tends to work better than Rav’s semi-automatic piloting program. For the first few decades of their adventures the captain wouldn't even let him sit at the bridge controls. That, of course, was centuries ago, long before they had learned to trust each other implicitly. 

“Yeah?” Peter says, swiveling the chair around. 

Rav’s dressed down - there are no stars to blow up today or cargo suppliers to meet, and it’s just Rav, not Starburner, in his loose jeans and tank top and those god-awful cowboy boots that Peter always teases him about. His hat is on, like always, hiding corkscrew curls. He nearly takes Peter’s breath away and poetry threatens to come oozing out of the gentle look he gives the pilot.

“I was wonderin' if you’d like to come down to the moon in this system with me. It’s known for havin’ some of the most intense alcohol in the galaxy,” Rav says, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly. 

Peter grins and keeps the ‘your smile would light up the vacuum of space’ to himself. They’re still on a quest to find something that will get him drunk. It’s purely one of their ridiculous science experiments, but they’ve known each other for centuries and have only come close once. As a being who doesn’t technically need to eat, drink, or sleep, finding something that inebriates him has proved effectively impossible.

“Sure,” he says. “Someone’s going to need to be there to fly your drunk ass back to the Alexander.”

“Shut up!” Rav growls, breaking into a laugh at the end of it because he knows he's right. Peter’s heart aches, spinning with words like ‘please never stop laughing, I know whole stars that would go supernova in your excitement. 

“Gidget and Booplax aren't going?” 

He isn’t really sure when he started thinking in poetry, but it might have begun sometime after he got on Rav’s ship after the battle with the Necronaut and all the heroes, after everything seemed to stop being important. It was like his brain was too tired to be analytical anymore; words were all he had when he was at his weakest then. And Rav had taken him all around the galaxy and shown him the most beautiful places while he recovered, spitting up green matter and trying to remember what it was like to feel things. He had started thinking in half sentiments, stringing together all the lovely things the galaxy had to offer. But now there are far too many feelings, and far too many half-poetic sentiments to contain to his thoughts. 

That was ages ago though, and this is now. And now he and Rav are once again known throughout dimensions as gunslingers, vigilantes, and cargo suppliers. Rav’s always been the heartthrob of the galaxy and somehow Peter’s been pulled into it - in certain dimensions the S.S. Alexander can’t go a hundred light years without being snapped by the paparazzi. Everyone wants to know the secrets behind Starburner and Earth’s poster boy Commander Cosmo.

“Nah, you know these places aren’t really Gidget’s scene. 'N Booplax mentioned fixin' up his room's generator. But we’re headin’ down in an hour,” Rav says, snapping Peter out of his reverie. 

Peter nods and gives him a quick grin. As Rav saunters down the hall to the living quarters, his smile slips away and he groans, lowering his head into his hands. 

_I’m a lovesick idiot._

+

The bar is nothing like the ramshackle, wood-paneled places frequent on the S.S. Alexander’s trips around the cosmos. This moon is business-based and the city streets, just a few minutes flight from the outskirts of the town where the ships are parked, are alive with flashing lights and people just out of work. Peter feels out of place among the high-rise mirrored buildings and the moving sidewalks, but he follows behind Rav, trying to ignore the butterflies in the pit of his stomach when Rav takes his hand. 

Despite the far too...social aspect of the establishment, Peter finds himself enjoying the ambient music and the unique flavor of the planet’s alcohol. It's somewhere between cider and gin, something earthy and pine-like. He sits at the bar and watches Rav talk another drink out of the bartender; he laughs a little too easily and a puts his hand on the man’s arm for a little too long, but sure enough. He walks back over to Peter with a wink. 

“You’re a con artist,” Peter chastises.

“Con or no, I am an artist,” Rav says in return. 

Peter laughs and crushes the lines of verse weighing heavy in his throat. 

“I’ll give you that,” he says, taking another shot of the multi-colored drinks lined up in front of him.

They sit at the bar together and talk and laugh, and god, Rav is the prettiest when he’s laughing - all good humor and quick wit and dimples when he smiles so bright. It’s all too much. 

“Y’know, you look a little flushed,” Rav says, reaching a hand out to feel Peter’s forehead. “You feelin’ alright, Commander?” 

Peter inhales sharply and forces a seemingly-annoyed smile, batting his hand away.  His touch is soft and cool and it takes all his willpower not to lean into it too obviously. “Guess we finally found the type of liquor that gets to me.”

Rav grins triumphantly and hits the counter. “Yeehaw!" he shouts, drawing the attention of a few other patrons. "I knew we would eventually! So, tell me, what’s it like bein’ drunk for the first time in three centuries?” 

“‘m not drunk. Just...tipsy.” He sits up straight on the stool to make his point. Almost immediately, the ground seems to fall out from underneath him. He grabs the counter for support and stares at Rav in disbelief. 

“You are gone, Commander!” he crows, laughing loudly. “Aw, it’s sweet. I never see you this unstable.”

Oh, boy, Peter thinks, trying very hard to sort his thoughts out.  His brain seems to short circuit at that word, poetry stopped dead in its tracks for the moment. “Who are you calling sweet, Starburner?”

“Don’t play dumb, Peter. There’s a reason you’re the galaxy’s heartthrob,” Rav says. He winks at the commander for good measure. 

Peter melts. 

After several centuries of sobriety, being drunk is something of a shock. It's like he's sixteen again on Earth, sneaking flutes of champagne from the Walter company dinners. He’s always been a sappy drunk but it seems especially true tonight as he lounges against the marble counter and listens to his best friend talk. He’s always loved listening to him, at least since coming back from the Necrostar. Pre-Earth hero Peter hadn't quite appreciated Rav's talent for it. He can infodump like no one he’s ever met and tonight he just sits and watches and tries not to make it too obvious that he’s basking in the glow of his energy. 

Peter rests his chin on his hand as he gazes at Rav. He’s talking up a storm and swaying a little, giggling and throwing back sips of the nameless blue drink as he speaks. The fluorescent lights of the bar pulse and shine, catching his nose and cheeks, casting his visage in soft colors. Every now and then Peter chimes in, but the star of the show is the pilot, doused in rainbow. The alcohol is truly taking effect because the commander suddenly feels dizzy with adoration. Poetry bubbles up on his tongue. It seems to run through his veins urging him to wax poetic about the very nature of Rav’s…well, everything.

Rav finishes his story, grins (in the lopsided way that he does) and takes a drink.

“You speak like the galaxies and when you laugh I can feel whole solar systems being born,” Peter blurts out. “And your freckles could outshine the stars on any night.”

_Oh, fuck._

Rav chokes on his drink, sputtering nonsense as he coughs. Peter sits up and grabs his shoulder to steady him.

“Sorry,” he says meekly, feeling a blue blush creep up on his cheeks. 

_It’s finally happened. The metaphorical shoe has dropped._

“Commander,” Rav says once he’s regained the ability to talk and Peter has already gone through the five stages of grief and accepted his imminent embarrassment. “What did you just say?”

_Or...maybe not?_

“I - uh. It’s poetry." 

_No, no, it’s definitely dropped._

“A...poem.” Rav raises an eyebrow, cheeks tinged a dark green. Peter feels his crystalline heart beat a little faster. “About...me?”

Peter groans and drops his head into his hands, sinking down in his seat to rest his elbows on the counter. “It’s not a full poem, not yet, but the words are all there in my head and if you would stop being so goddamn - “ 

“Peter, stop mutterin’,” Rav says, ducking down so he can look at the commander. “I can’t make out a word you’re sayin’ in all this noise.”

It’s one of those moments that falls somewhere between derealization and plain old confusion where Peter can feel the whole world moving very slowly around him. The music shaking the floor, Rav lingering right next to him, the cool stone of the counter. Everything seems to pause for a moment, and then comes rushing back all at once. 

“Come outside with me?” Peter says, standing from his seat and offering his arm to Rav.

Rav nods uncertainly and follows Peter out of the crowd, slipping out of the bar to the back of the building. It’s empty, save for a few empty boxes marked ‘CARGO’ in big block lettering. The sky is dark and the moon’s mother planet is high in the sky, rings reaching out toward them. As soon as he gets a breath of fresh air he feels better, mind clearing fairly quickly outside of the claustrophobia-inducing establishment. He stands there for a moment staring up at the stars while he waits for Rav to join him. 

The cowboy sidles up next to him and peers at him curiously. “You’re in a weird mood, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, exhaling as he stares up. “Guess you could say that.”

The door to the club swings shut heavily, muting the pulsing beat of the music. It's almost silent save for the distant sounds of the city.

“So,” Rav says, and he sounds a bit uncertain, like he doesn’t know how to ask the question. “What’s up with this poetry business?”

Peter sighs, groans, and then shrugs noncommittally. “I’m just...filled with them lately. Words, you know.  So many I’m practically constructing a star map of them in my brain. I’ve always been fluent in math but all of a sudden, words are all I’ve got.”

Rav clicks his tongue and nods thoughtfully. “And I’m your muse?”

Peter doesn’t turn his head to look directly at him, but he’s pretty sure that dark green blush is still on his cheeks, making his freckles stand out all the more prominently. “You could say that,” he says, feeling a far more glittery blue blush spread across his own face. He always looks like cotton candy when he gets flustered, and it doesn’t happen often, but he hates when it does. 

_How very unbecoming._

“Almost two thousand years and I’ve never been someone’s muse before. Guess I kinda like the sound of that.”

At this, Peter spares a quick glance, only to find Rav peering at him with the same curious-clover-colored look on his face. He breathes deeply, cold air on his tongue, and turns to face him completely. He crosses his arms and offers his friend an apologetic look. 

“I know it’s kind of weird,” he says. “I -”

“Did you not hear me say I like the sound of it?” Rav cuts in, eyes lighting up with the sort of mischievous excitement Peter has come to know and love. I’m forever washed in the tide of your gaze, he thinks desperately. He clenches his hands into fists. Breathes deep, despite his lack of need for air.

“I thought you were just being nice,” Peter says defensively. He runs a hand through his hair and shivers at the mere force of the anticipation settling in his stomach. 

The lights in Rav’s eyes glimmer blue in deep brown from the neon on the building. It reflects in the puddles on the ground and the dew on the asphalt, and Peter can imagine his hair is lit up like a Christmas tree by the reflections. 

“I’ve know ya for a millennia, Commander; who needs to be polite to a friend they’ve had for a thousand years?” Rav rolls his eyes. Peter could swear it’s a fond gesture. He shivers again.  

“Certainly not you,”  Peter says. 

“Exactly.” There’s a moment of quiet and then - “D'you really think my freckles are pretty?”

Peter laughs and pats Rav awkwardly on the back, trying to ignore the warmth under his hand, so different from his own crystalline cold. “Yeah, Rav, I do. Very cute.”  

“Quit callin’ me cute, Starboy! I’ll have you know I’m wanted in six dimensions!” 

He flushes an even brighter blue at the use of his favorite nickname. “And this one is  no exception.” 

Rav gives him a  knowing look, and says, “Oh, yeah? Who wants me here, Commander?” 

Peter crosses his fingers and looks up at Rav. He’s only banking on, oh, about a thousand years of friendship, the excuse that he’s still drunk, and the knowledge that Rav is an easy-going guy, on the results of what he’s about to do.

Under the cool glow of the alley’s lights, Peter says, “You know I do, Rav,” and cups the side of Rav’s face with his hands. He barely has time to register the pleased look on his friend’s face before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

He’s struck by how delicate Rav is, for a literal space cowboy. His heart seems to thud loudly in his chest, white noise rushing in his ears out of nervousness as he kisses him. And then Rav grins into the kiss and grabs Peter's waist and shoulder, yanking him closer. He pulls away for a moment, whispers, "it's about damn time," and then crushes Peter to him. 

Peter gasps happily, lets himself be pulled closer. Rav kisses him like he thought he would, hot and rough and practiced. He puts a hand on the back of Peter's head and deepens the kiss, mouth open. The commander can feel the sharp points of Rav's canines, inhuman in nature as he slips his tongue into his mouth. He's pushed into the wall of the club, feels Rav's leg between his thighs. For the first time in decades he's dizzy. 

"Oh - !" he breathes, finally opening his eyes as Rav begins to trail wet kisses along his jaw and neck, ducking down to tug at his shirt collar. 

"I've wanted this for so fuckin' long," Rav says between kisses. Peter's breath hitches in his throat as he feels a bite just beneath his jaw. "Can't believe yer damn poetry is what made you suck it up and kiss me." 

"Hey," Peter says defensively, trying and failing not to buck up into Rav's touch as he lowers his hand to his thighs. "You didn't try anything either."

Rav laughs, stands up straight to look Peter in the eyes as he slides a hand across his stomach. "Commander, yer the poster boy for stupid sweet innocence. Didn't wanna traumatize you after the Necrostar. Didn't want to make a move when you were choked up over Holly. Didn't wanna ruin a friendship when we were all each other had." 

Peter's heart sings. "You're the waves in my ocean and the rings to my planet," he says. 

Rav gives him a look, eyes soft as the sand on Peter's childhood beach. "Yer a doll, darlin' boy. Never thought I'd find someone who loves me like you."

"You have no idea," Peter says, stealing another kiss from Rav. He scrapes his fingernails along his friend's arms, feels Rav shiver underneath them. 

"Oh, yes, I do," Rav promises. "I love you so fucking much, Peter." 

He presses a kiss to his cheek slowly, heatedly. Peter shivers. 

"I'd give up the galaxy for you. I'd never touch another star if it meant being yours." Rav's voice is so earnest, right next to his ear, and Peter feels something in him snap. 

He grabs Rav around the waist and shoots upward, launching them off the ground without warning. Rav shouts and wraps his arms around him. The night sky zooms ever closer as he flies toward the stars, beaming to himself. 

"Peter!" Rav says in a scolding tone of voice. "Warn me next time." 

"Sorry," Peter laughs. "Had to burn off some excitement." 

Here, the air is cold. The city gleams beneath them, and Peter deposits them on top of a skyscraper roof. Rav is disheveled as always, shivering in the night. 

"You're my whole universe, my favorite constellation," Peter says. He laughs jubilantly. "I love you, Rav. So, so much."

"You sappy idiot. I love you, too." Rav grabs him and kisses him long and hard. Peter's stomach fills with butterflies, and - wow - he really does feel sixteen again, heart new and overflowing with love and hope and wonder.

The sounds of the night fill the air as Peter sinks into Rav's embrace, poetry pouring directly from his fingertips and lips to the man he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> TALK TO ME ON TUMBLR @ds9s !!!


End file.
